


Intersections

by alrightcat



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universes, M/M, Mutual Pining, This Author Failed Physics in School, UST, Yet This Fic Involves Quite A Bit Of It, Zine: KiSCon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:32:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5132792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alrightcat/pseuds/alrightcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 2260, and James T. Kirk accepts a mission to check out an anomaly at the Narada wormhole.</p>
<p>The year is 2015, and James T. Kirk is plagued by mysterious dreams of a planet far far away, and of a man he's never met. He is also embarking on a mission to establish contact with alien life forms.</p>
<p>Given the circumstances, they should have never met. But by a strange twist of fate, they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for this year's KiSCon! I wasn't able to go, but it was fun writing this anyway. Hope you enjoy!

**United States of America – Riverside, Iowa. (4 th January 2015)**

 

As the sky lightens over the Iowan cornfields, a man stands alone in his room. The room is scarce, bare; everything that had made this house a home has been long packed and sent almost halfway across the country. There is nothing much left now. Around him, the dust motes swirl and dance in the early glow of sunrise.

 

There is nothing left to do here. He turns around and walks out of the room, his footsteps like thunder in the quiet of the dawn. Picking up a beaten up leather jacket, he shrugs it on as he walks along the hallways of his house. There are patches of discolouration on the walls from where previously photo frames had hung; he had made sure they were all packed safely into boxes and sent them first to his new home.

 

Downstairs, a car horn sounds, jerking him out of his thoughts. The man hurriedly picks up his duffel bag by the door and heads out of the house for the last time. A taxi is waiting for him, and the driver rolls down the windows to look at him curiously.

 

“Morning, sir. You’re James Kirk?”

 

The man smiles, his grey eyesflashing. “Yeah, I am.”

 

“Alright then. Hop on.”

 

He falls asleep in the taxi an hour into the ride to the hushed chords of country music from the radio. He dreams again.

 

The golden fields of Iowa so familiar to him slowly blur in his dreamscape to something red, warm, _alien_. However, the scene changes before his sluggish mind can process it. His dreams have a fleeting, flickering quality to them, almost like a flame shuddering in the wind.

 

The landscape shudders, and everything changes. The red desert is suddenly strewn with metallic debris and fire, with pillars of acrid black smoke rising into the sky. The heat James feels on his face is unnaturally realistic, and for a moment Jim thinks he might be dreaming of Hell. Over the sounds of explosions, he hears a woman’s tortured screams clear against the damning silence of the desert, and he feels a roiling in his stomach and barely holds his breakfast down.

 

Then, the picture changes, and James knows. It’s him, again.

 

The silence of the room he is in is disorientating after the chaos of the ravaged desert. The high glass ceilings and chrome steel speak of progress and technology, but James knows by now that the people in this scene are not human. The beings seated at the high table all have the characteristic pointed ears and bowlcuts, as is the man he is standing next to.

 

“…You have achieved so much despite your disadvantage. Your father would approve.”

 

He feels the man besides him stiffen. “If you would clarify, Minister, to what disadvantage are you referring to?”

 

“Your human mother.”

 

There is a beat, and James turns his head to look at the handsome face of the alien he has come to know in his dreams. His slanted brows are slightly furrowed, and his warm ( _human_ ) eyes turn to look at an ostentatiously empty seat at the table.

 

“I…I thank you, Ministers.”

 

The beings at the high table began to rise. “With the situation at hand, it is dire that we can get as much manpower as possible, Spock. Session dismissed.”

 

Beside him, Spock lowers his head and clenches his fists, and James heart aches. He reaches out an astral arm to touch Spock’s pale cheek, but the scene begins to blur, and he cannot help but watch as it fades to black.

 

**Beta Quadrant – USS Enterprise (Stardate 2260.40)**

 

“Receiving communication from Admiral Komack, Captain. Priority one.”

 

Kirk blinks blearily at the ceiling of his room, awoken by the loud chirp of his communicator. He turns his head slowly to look at the bedside chronometer; its only 0200 and way too early for a call with Komack.

 

“Captain?”

 

Uhura’s voice slices through the haziness of sleep, and he sits up in his bed, stifling a yawn.

 

“Kirk here. Patch him through to my console, I’ll take it here.”

 

“Acknowledged.”

 

Kirk pushes his blanket away and rubs the sleep grit out of his eyes. Shuffling over to his desk, he pulls his tunic over his bare chest on the way. He forgoes wearing pants completely; if Komack can call him at such an ungodly hour, he can deal with Kirk not wearing pants while answering.

 

When he makes his way to his console, the Admiral is already on the screen waiting for him. He makes sure to position the camera to only show himself from the waist up.

 

Komack’s face is stony, as usual. “Captain Kirk.”

 

“Admiral. Sorry for the delay, I wasn’t expecting a call at this hour.”

 

“I understand, Kirk. But I received some new orders from top brass, and I need to know if you’re up for it.”

 

Immediately, Kirk straightens up, the remaining cottony feel of slumber cleared from his head. “The Enterprise is currently on a star charting mission, Admiral. I believe we can afford to take on new orders.”

 

“Good,” Komack intones. “I need the Enterprise to rendezvous at the site of the Narada wormhole. An anomaly has been detected and Command needs to know if this poses enough of a threat.”

 

_Narada_ , Kirk thinks to himself, back to the incident that had earned him his captainship so many years ago. This anomaly could be as serious as a bug bite, but he knows that the Federation cannot afford another incident like Nero, especially after the devastation Khan has wrecked upon Earth.

 

“Its not a problem at all, sir. The Enterprise will change her course now.”

 

“Good. I’ll send you the mission brief. Komack out.”

 

The screen of his console goes blank, and Kirk is left alone in the dim 25% lighting of his cabin. Idly, he notices the light of his bathroom sluicing into his own room via the gap on the floor. He hears the low hum of the sonic sink running, and he wonders if Spock – the man he shares a bathroom with – is going to sleep soon.

 

Kirk suddenly feels hollow, and he swallows down the familiar tightness of his throat and blinks away the stinging of his eyes. It is dangerous, thinking about his First Officer in the dark, alone. Hurriedly, he switches off his console and takes in a breath.

 

It is futile to entertain such thoughts; of Spock standing by his side against the stars, of blue and black spilling onto white bed sheets. If he couldn’t get Spock to know, to accept his feelings when he was dying, he sincerely doubts that Spock feels anything more than platonic for him in the first place.

 

The sonic humming from the sink stops, and irrationally Kirk strains his ears harder to catch the sounds of his First Officer moving around in the bathroom.  He can only watch, however, as the light from the bathroom fades into blackness, and allows himself to lean against the bulkhead for a while.

 

**United States of America – Florida, Kennedy Space Centre. (6 th January 2015)**

 

James stands awkwardly in the lobby, a duffel bag in hand. Around him, people are walking around him with purpose, talking in hushed tones. Standing still in this sea of movement does not help lessen the throbbing pain behind his eyeballs.

 

He rubs his hand wearily over his brow and drags it over his face. James had dreamt again last night of pointed ears and flushed emerald skin, and he had awoken with sticky thighs and a pounding migraine. Something is wrong with him, he knows; it isn’t normal to be dreaming so intensely of someone that doesn’t exist. He knows by now that medication doesn’t help either. His therapists don’t believe him, and who can blame them?

 

James suddenly feels three taps on his shoulder, but he knows who it is before he fully turns around. He is greeted with warm blue eyes and gets pulled into a hug before James can protest.

 

“James! Good to see you again, son.”

 

James winced in his grip, suddenly feeling too much like a ten-year-old for his liking. “Yeah, Pike. It’s nice to see you too. Do you mind, uh, letting me go though? Migraine.”

 

Reluctantly, the arms around him pull away, and James can now properly look at the man he has come to know as his father. Standing there in a wrinkled dress shirt, Christopher Pike still looks like the man that pulled him out of the orphanage 25 years ago. He feels a familiar shit-eating grin carve onto his face despite his pounding headache.

 

“Yeah, its nice to finally be here,” James commented, changing his hold on his duffel bag. He can’t help but feel a fluttering against his chest; this place had been the subject of so many of his childhood dreams and aspirations, and to finally be here makes him strangely nervous.

 

“It sure is. Anyway, I’ve been sent here to collect you and escort you to the meeting rooms for the quick debrief on what happened.” At that, Pike smiled, eyes going bright in restrained excitement. “We’re keeping it secret for now, but since you’re going to be needed for this, you have to know what’s going on.”

 

Pike leads him down further into the building, slicing expertly through the sea of people, and James hurries after him.

 

“James,” Pike starts, after the doors of the elevator slides closed. “How are you?”

 

James stiffens, his grip on his duffel bag tightening. Pike was the only other person he let know about his persistent dreams, and the only one to believe him. He turns his head to look at him, but ends up looking at somewhere over his left shoulder instead.

 

Five years ago, Christopher Pike had been the one to disqualify him from going into space.

 

James isn’t as angry now as he was. Still, he can’t help but feel resentment at having his dream taken away from him by the man he trusted the most. Intellectually, he understood why; his dreams were worrying, to say the least.

 

Though emotionally, he still feels a squeezing ache in his chest at the thought that the only person he had dared confide in had denied him the thing he had lived and breathed for. After that night, James had run away to the old farmhouse in Iowa, the only thing his dead parents had left him, and spent the first night polishing off a bottle of whisky alone.

 

He doesn’t make a move to look at Pike as they walk out of the elevator, but he knows that the old man is asking out of concern for him.

 

“I’m fine, Pike. I just slept in a weird position last night, is all.”

 

James tries not to squirm as he feels a pair of sharp blue eyes on his downturned head. As much as he hates feeling like a gawky 10 year old, he also misses being cared for. Pike says nothing but pats him on the shoulder, and the comforting weight of it makes him his chest feel slightly warmer.

 

They stop in front of a nondescript door eventually, and Pike pushes the door open to reveal a whole room of suits, with all eyes on them.

 

James suddenly feels underdressed in a wrinkled shirt and a cheap pin-on tie. He swallows, and hopes that he doesn’t get disqualified over his dressing, of all things. He tries to give them a smile, but he knows that it looks more like a grimace than anything. Embarrassed, he looks away from the unimpressed looks of everyone in the room and stares at the plush gold carpeting instead, feeling his heart sink impossibly low in his stomach.

 

Pike clears his throat. “Madams and Sirs, this is the candidate Mr. James Tiberius Kirk. Before we begin the meeting, I would like to clarify that he is brought in here today without any prior knowledge of the plan we have and will be discussing today.”

 

James’ limbs feel like lead as he stumbles his way into the only empty chair in the room at the far end of the table. He sits up unnaturally stiff, and tries to pretend not to notice that almost everyone in the room is sizing him up. He can do this, he tells himself.

 

“Ladies and Gents, if you would look at the meeting briefs in front of you, please.” James looks down in front of him to see a thick stack of papers lying innocuously in front of him. The front is emblazoned with official symbols, which James recognizes. The crest of the United Nation’s Security Council, NASA, CNSA, RNSA and the logos of other governmental space agencies are stamped onto cover, along with the word “Confidential” in bold and underlined. The magnitude of this meeting dawning then hits James like a ton of bricks, and he regrets not having put on a nicer shirt.

 

“If you would look at page 35,” Pike intones, flipping through his own handout. The silence is broken by the sound of shuffling papers, and James snaps out of his reverie enough to flip through his own packet, only to see his own grey eyes staring back at him. The confusion he feels is turning slowly but surely into a rising wave of panic. His eyes dart across the page, barely registering the twenty other pictures of other astronauts and words like _imperative_ and _wormhole_ and _anomaly_.

 

James looks up at Pike, eyes wild. _What is going on?_

 

“Mr Kirk,” Pike begins, voice suddenly more serious than he has ever heard it. “This meeting is held in the strictest confidence. What we will be discussing here cannot be let known to others, do you understand?”

 

A pause. “What _the hell_ is happening?”

 

**???? - ???? (Date Unknown)**

A clock ticks in the room. It is silent, blessedly so, and for a moment it is almost as if everything is fine. A man is bent over a desk, dark hair gleaming in the harsh sunlight of the desert. He has not slept for four days, and has not rested for a few months now.

 

Too accustomed to it, he does not react to the sound of footsteps outside the door.

 

This time, however, there is no quick rapping of the knuckles against the fortified steel doors. Instead, he hears the sharp _snick_ of the lock being opened and the whispery sound of metal over stone.

 

“Spock,” a gentle voice calls out from above him. “Spock, you have to rest.”

 

“This report is of utmost importance, Mother,” the man replies, not deigning to even look up from the various tablets strewn over the table. “You know that.”

 

A shadow falls over his tablets, and Spock stops writing. “Vulcans are capable of performing under less than optimal stress levels.”

 

A warm, soft hand lands gently on the top of his head, and only then Spock looks up to meet the red-rimmed eyes of his mother.

 

“I know, Spock.” He feels the hand slide down from his hair to cup at his cheek. “I married _and_ gave birth to one.” A frown mars his mother’s otherwise beautiful face. “You need to eat, at least.”

 

In the harsh light of day, his mother cuts a dark fragile figure dressed in all black. Spock knows, black is a colour with significant meanings in his mother’s culture. Still, he does not need to understand so to see that his mother is still mourning, her bloodshot eyes and haggard complexion tells him what he needs to know.

 

As gently as he can, he trails two fingers over the back of his mother’s hand in a rare sign of familial affection. “I will, mother. After I’m done with what I have to do.”

 

“You haven’t eaten in three days. Please, this can wait at least for a while.”

 

The increasing desperation in his mother’s voice gives him pause. The death of his father had been devastating to the both of them, but unlike Spock, she does not try to reason Sarek’s death with logic and accept his passing. It is

a particular quirk of her species. Her lack of emotional control is something quite of both interest and distaste on Vulcan.

 

That is not to say that Spock has not been affected by the passing of his father at all. He, however, does not have the luxury or the benefit of doubt to be mourning as openly as his mother is. There is nothing to do but to soldier on, especially in times like these. There will be time to grieve later, in the privacy of his chambers.

 

“I cannot rest, Mother,” he says frankly, feeling the warm hand on his cheek slide away. “As I am half-Vulcan, the Council requires me to put in more effort to prove my worth as a seat holder. Additionally, this ceasefire we have now with the Romulans will not last more than a week. We must prepare to prevent more civilian loss.”

 

“I understand,” his mother whispers, suddenly sounding wearier than she has ever been in years. “But, oh, you are far too young to be carrying the weight of Vulcan on your shoulders.”

 

“What is, is,” Spock replies, the history and weight of his words resonating in the room. “I cannot afford to think otherwise.”

 

As his mother turns around to walk away, his grip on the pen tightens, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of desperation. He does not hesitate before blurts out: “ Have you received anything? From him?”

 

Immediately, he curses his weakness. Spock should not be thinking about _him_ , not at a time like this. Nonetheless, it has been a while since the last time the transmitters have received any other messages from this mysterious man of his mother’s race. To his shame, he is exceptionally eager to see this man again, to the extent that he watches the video clips the Vulcan Space Institute received in the darkness of his own office repeatedly.

 

A small laugh breaks out of his mother as she turns around to face him again, face lighting up briefly with amusement and love. He can already feel his ears flushing, and he looks down back at his tablets again.

 

“I apologize for being presumptuous – “

“Its okay, Spock.” He watches his mother’s face soften into a now rare smile. “I’ll keep an eye on the VSI channels for you.”

 

“Thank you, mother,” Spock replies, disgracefully embarrassed for a Vulcan of his standing. “I… am grateful.”

 

There is a moment of silence before his mother replies. “Spock, the place where I came from – Earth – and where this man comes from has yet to reach warp capability. An accident brought me here, and…” She trails off, expression wary. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

 

Spock’s face feels hot, and he is awash with shame and a strange sense of melancholy. “I am aware.”

 

His mother sighs again. She has been uncharacteristically muted, her cheerful eyes now muddled by stress and grief. Spock wishes he could take away some of that pain, and he knows the faster this war ends, the faster he could truly spend time with the only relation he has left. He looks down back at his tablets, the swirling Vulcan words scrolling across the screens. “Leave me now, Mother. I will be done soon.”

 

**Alpha Quadrant – USS Enterprise (Stardate 2260.42)**

 

“Estimated time of arrival, Mr Sulu?”

 

The bridge is mostly silent, with all personnel focused on their current task at hand. Kirk watches as Sulu checks his calculations on his station again before speaking.

 

“ETA in about eighteen and a half hours, Captain.”

 

Sulu’s voice is terse, and Kirk understands. Having asked that question at least about twenty times in the past two hours, he has a feeling that his helmsman is _this_ close to getting up from his station to throttle him in his chair. He can tell that his restlessness is affecting the rest of the bridge crew too; Uhura is tapping her nails against her own console, Chekov is swearing quietly under his breath in frantic Russian, and Spock is – well, Spock.

 

Ever since the change of course, there has been an uneasy roiling in Kirk’s stomach, and he knows that something will go terribly wrong soon. Everything about this mission is ominous, from the inexplicable anomaly detected from the Narada wormhole to the suddenly tense atmosphere in the ship; Kirk knows that nothing good could possibly come out of this.

 

In eighteen hours the Enterprise would be arriving at the rendezvous site, just before the estimated time the anomaly would happen. Kirk’s shift would be over by them, but he knows he has to be ready for action at the mission point. He didn’t sleep well last night, or the night before, and Kirk can already feel the bone-deep exhaustion kicking in after almost twelve hours on duty. He’s vaguely surprised that his good doctor friend has yet to pay a visit to the bridge and drag him off to sleep, but then even he knows that he’s bitten off far more he could chew this time.

 

He briskly summons up his beta shift replacement to the bridge and leaves the conn to Sulu before stepping into the turbolift. But before the turbolift doors could slide fully shut, he hears the heartfelt sighs of relief of the whole bridge crew at his exit.

 

He paces the corridors leading up to his quarters, the heavy _thump thump_ of his boots hitting the metal deck. Kirk keeps his ears open, and there it is, another pair of lighter footsteps trailing after him.

 

“Captain,” a familiar rumbling voice sounds out from behind him. “You are displaying signs of undue fatigue and insomnia. Perhaps it is best to seek medical attention from the Doctor McCoy.”

 

Kirk swallows a sigh. “I’m fine, Mr. Spock. Aren’t you supposed to be on duty? Go back to the bridge.”

 

“Negative, My shift ended approximately two hours ago. I chose to remain on the bridge with you, sir.”

 

“I – Fine. Go get some rest, I’ll see you later when we reach rendezvous point.”

 

A hand lands gently on his shoulder and Kirk stops in his tracks, silently cursing his fluttering heartbeat.

 

“I believe that you are suffering from emotional trauma, Captain. Please allow for a psychological evaluation upon your person whenever possible.”

 

Kirk is shocked into silence. He pauses, turning around to meet Spock’s infuriatingly shielded eyes. “Are you questioning my ability to command, Mr. Spock?”

 

Spock furrows his brows, a sign of confusion at his Captain’s sudden anger. “No, Captain. I am merely – “

 

“Really? Because it sounds like you are.”

 

“I am not.” Spock insists, annoyingly calm in the face of his anger. “I am only caring for your welfare as your first officer and friend. “

 

“Friend?” Jim spits, chest almost heaving with anger and betrayal. “If you’re really my friend, you better start acting like one.”

 

He does not wait for his commander to answer before he turns away, eyes wet with frustration. Kirk knows, he knows he probably should’ve gone to Bones when the insomnia started. And even though he accepts the logic of Spock’s concern, it had still hurt to hear his First question his psychological health.

 

His steps gets slower, and he eventually stops in his tracks, a dawning sense of dread pervading his being. _Shit_ , he thinks. Spock probably hadn’t meant for that to be offensive. Kirk doesn’t know what’s wrong with him lately; he can’t get a good read on Spock anymore, since after Khan. Spock has been distanced from him – not rude or borderline insubordinate, like after the Nero incident, but politely removed.

 

Kirk, in retaliation, has been snappish right back towards Spock to get back the reactions that he used to get out of him. He doesn’t understand anything, and he feels he’s just grasping at straws trying to understand what has happened between them.

 

The torch he’s carrying for his First Officer is far from snuffed out, however. If anything, it’s grown ever stronger. He knows Spock went absolutely batshit crazy after he died; Kirk spent countless nights watching the ship’s security tapes from after his death. He also knows Spock broke up with Uhura sometime during his stint in limbo, and that only serves to add fuel to this one-sided adoration. Previously, he could reason to himself that Spock was taken and he was lucky to even qualify for the position of ‘friend’, but now, Kirk hopes.

 

His feet takes him in the direction of his quarters, head hanging low.

 

He knows its no use, thinking any more about this. If it’s anything to go by, Spock hasn’t shown anything remotely close to romantic interest to Kirk. Perhaps Spock already knows about his pathetic crush, and is just politely distancing himself from him as a form of rejection.

 

A chill pervades his being at the thought. He can envision Spock’s pity already, warm brown eyes cold with it, like how one is sympathetic to a rat caught in a trap.

 

He quickly keys in the code to his quarters and stumbles inside, trying to keep his emotions all under wraps. Kirk doesn’t even bother taking off his boots before tumbling into bed and squashing his face into a pillow to drown out his jumbled thoughts. Hopefully, sleep will claim him before he loses his mind completely.

 

** United States of America – Texas, Johnson Space Centre. (10th January 2015) **

 

“James! James, hold up.”

 

Pike’s voice called out to him just when he stepped out of the Sonny Carter Training Facility, and he looked around to see his adoptive father power walking from the other end of a hallway towards him.

 

“Pike,” he says in greeting, affording a tired smile as the graying man approaches. James is absolutely bone-tired; he started training the moment he stepped foot into Houston. “What’s up?”

 

“Walk with me for a while, won’t you?”

 

Before James could refuse, Pike interrupts with a glint in his eye. “Your session at the Simulation has been postponed. I think you’ll find that your next hour is free, son.”

 

So it wasn’t a request. “Sure,” he said, exhausted. “Do you mind if we sit somewhere first? I’ve been on my feet since 6 am.”

 

They walk in silence to a secluded area outside the building and James allows himself to collapse on the nearest stone bench, and Pike looks at him strangely.

 

“What, never seen a man tired before?”

 

Pike shakes his head, and sits down next him sedately. “I’m sorry for calling you on such short notice. You really shouldn’t have to push yourself like this.”

 

“Are you kidding? If you didn’t, I would’ve never spoken to you again.” James laughs, a quiet but genuine one. “We’ve actually found sentient alien life, holy shit.”

 

“I know, and it’s all thanks to you.” A warm hand thumps him solidly on the back, and he feels his cheeks warming up. “Your messages got through to them.”

 

When James had recorded the audio recordings for SETI all those years back, he would never had thought that they would actually find a recipient.

Sure, the Institute did give him a script to read off, but nevertheless he never told them about the encryptions he had put into those audio files with his own personal anecdotes. There was nothing harmful; of course, James would never express any opinion of his that was controversial onto tapes meant to represent the whole of humankind. He mostly kept to silly little stories, like what his favorite brand of cereal was, or what the weather was like on that particular day.

 

James, the first human ever communicate with aliens, mortifying talked for a good 5 minutes on the merits of Lucky Charms.

 

There is a rustling to his side, and James looks to see Pike retrieving a sandwich from his satchel, and hurriedly catches it when Pike lightly throws it at him.

 

“You probably haven’t eaten. Eat up for later.”

 

Pike is right. He can’t remember when was the last time he’s eaten, only realizing now when he’s peeling the plastic off the sandwich.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No problem. How are the other candidates? Is anyone stealing your lunch money yet?”

 

“Ha ha,” James says, mouth full with ham and cheese. “Very funny. They’re all very nice people, thank you very much.” He pauses for a while to swallow. “What are my chances?”

 

“Honestly? The state of your mental health is still in question. Otherwise, you’d stand a pretty good chance. It’s your message the aliens replied to, anyway. But – “ he stops in the middle of his sentence, his stance suddenly reflective. “How badly do you want to go onto this mission?”

 

James swallows the last of his sandwich and shifts around to face Pike. “What do you mean? Of course I want to go for this.”

 

“James, you have to realize that this mission is most likely a one way thing. We just aren’t capable of two way trips into deep space.” He retrieves a manila folder and passes it to James. “I just received this from the higher-ups today. These are the specifications for the ship we’re going to be sending out.”

 

A realization dawns on him as he flips through the papers. “You’re not expecting anyone to return from this.”

 

A beat. “No. These candidates here – they don’t have much to lose. No family, nothing. Once you get onto that ship, the chances of you ever seeing Earth again would be close to zero.”

 

“Why did you sign me up then?”

 

“Well, if I didn’t, you would never have spoken to me again.” Pike looks older than James has ever remembered him being, he lines around his eyes and mouth drawn tight together in tension. “I know how much this means to you. You’re meant to an explorer, and this looks to be the only way to get you up. Do you – do you still want to go aboard this mission?”

 

James thinks of his small apartment and empty fridge. Then, he thinks of Pike. “Do you want me to go?”

 

A silence. “No. No, I don’t. But that shouldn’t mean anything. Don’t let me pull you down.”

 

“I –“

 

“I’ve already done it once. I’m getting old, and I can’t be selfish. I want to see you do the things you were meant to do, even if it means never seeing you again.”

 

He goes for his simulations and training still, but all he can think of his the choice he is about to make; to leave Earth for good. If he seemed particularly moody, his fellow candidates say nothing about it and they continued to work as usual.

 

When he gets back to his tiny apartment, he can’t bring himself to shut down and sleep like he normally would. Instead, he sits at his desk, reads through the specifics of the ship, and thinks.

 

Clearly, the technology in this mission would be absolutely state of the art, but it still isn’t enough for sustainable interstellar travel. The tech has been developed in secrecy away from the public eye, so naturally they have yet to undergo actual test flights. Theoretically, it would work if the calculations were correct, but there was still a huge margin for error left.

 

The ship would be called the _ITS Enterprise_ , a small spacecraft able to support up to two persons and fitted with an untested cryogenic sleep system. For all intents and purposes, it is a sleeper ship able to carry out rudimentary functions intended to transport the two people on board to their destination.

 

Tomorrow, the candidates would undergo cryosleep for the first time to test the actual functionality of the machine. It won’t be for long; they’ll stay in their cell for about ten minutes first to test its functionality before increasing the time spent in the cryosleep by intervals of five minutes, in hopes that it’ll prepare the astronauts for potentially years of travel time.

 

James thinks of all that time he would potentially spend in artificial slumber, and he knows that there’s a chance he might never wake up from it. He wonders if he would still dream of the mysterious alien, even then.

 

He then thinks of the man who had raised him, and he thinks of leaving him behind for a shot at the improbable. Truth to be told; Earth has nothing for him but boring dead end jobs and strings of meaningless relationships. The only thing tethering him to this planet is Pike.

 

He breathes in the stale air of his apartment and reaches for his phone.

 

From there on, time passes by in a blur. Cramming two years of training into a few months is brutal, to say the least. He stands firm as the other candidates drop out of the race from sheer exhaustion, until only two of them are left. The other candidate is a woman of petite figure from Japan who goes by Reika, and the only thing James knows about her is that she has no family whatsoever.

 

And so, James is the only one present when she is put into cryosleep. He shakes her hand as she quietly lies down in her cell, and he watches the cell door sliding shut, sealing his companion away for the predictable future. Then, in the loaded silence of the ship, he waits.

 

James is already in his full flight suit, ready to be sealed into his cryogenic cell. He is waiting for Pike to come and see him for the last time. Absentmindedly, he slides into his cell and sits down. His hand are shaking, and as much as he likes to pretend that he isn’t afraid of what’s to come, he is still human, and the concept of eternal sleep hasn’t fully sunk into his brain yet.

 

At least, he thinks, he’ll dream. That might not be such a good thing, after all considering the sometimes-gruesome nature of them, but anything really would be preferable to emptiness. James might see _him_ again, though, which is nice to think about.

 

The sound of a door hissing open snaps him out of his reverie. He looks up from his hands to see Pike entering the room with his head bowed low to avoid hitting it against the low ceiling of the spacecraft.

 

“Pike.”

 

Embarrassingly, his voice cracks. He isn’t ready for this, not by a far shot, but James doesn’t want to appear so. Pike would worry.

 

Pike looks absolutely exhausted, his countenance frighteningly fragile. James’s heart aches at the sight. “James. Are you all set?”

 

He laughs hollowly. “Yeah, as ready as possible, I guess. What about you?”

 

He waves his hand absentmindedly as he comes to sit down on the edge of James’ cell. “Don’t worry about me. You should think about yourself now.”

 

A wave of guilt threatens to spill over his chest over the sight of the suddenly aged man in front of him. _How can I not worry when I’m leaving you behind?_

“I’m sorry.” He can’t help the few tears that slip out of the corner of his eyes. “I don’t want to leave you.”

 

Besides him, Pike frowns, heartache written clearly all over his face. “Its fine, I’m going to be fine. Listen, kid, I don’t have much time here. Take this.” He hands over a little plastic box sealed carefully shut. “Every astronaut should have a care package, and I got one for you. Take care of it, and take care of yourself, you hear me?”

 

James grasps the little box in his hands gently, and the tries his best to hold in his shuddering breaths. A small beeping sound starts up somewhere, signaling his turn to enter into cryosleep. He looks back up at Pike, grey eyes shot with red.

 

“Will you stay with me? Until I fall asleep.”

 

“Of course.”

 

He slips lower into his cell, and feels the cell begin to chill. Irrationally, he feels his heart begin to race, and only now does the full impact of his decision hit him. James can’t look anywhere else but into Pike’s deep grey eyes, and he knows that this would be the very last pair of human eyes he’ll ever see.

 

“Pike – Dad – “

 

“I’m here.”

 

“Please – Look at me – “

 

A plastic sheet slowly rises over his entire figure, and the cold is starting to shut down his biological systems. James struggles to stay awake, but he can barely make anything out beyond a blur now. He doesn’t want to sleep, not yet.

 

The door of his cell hisses shut over his head, and he is encased in complete darkness. It’s getting even colder, and James feels a mask clamping onto his mouth and nose, flushing hislungs full of oxygen. The temperature continues to drop, and he can no longer help his eyelids sliding shut.

 

The last thing he hears is the muffled sound of a hand touching the door of his cell, and then he is no more.

 

**Vulcan – Vulcan High Council (Date Unknown)**

 

Spock feels the hairs at the back of his neck prickle at the absolute silence in the room. Next to him, his mother is absolutely stone still, face blank of her usual gentleness.

 

“Councilor Spock, are you absolutely sure you are thinking clearly?”

 

He tries not to show how thoroughly irritated he is at the entire Vulcan Council. He has spent countless nights toiling over this proposal and consulted with his mother to gain a thorough insight into his subject. He did not put in so much effort to only be ridiculed by what should be his peers.

 

“Yes, Councilor Storak. Rest assured I did think of each and every possible ramification of this proposal if, of course, it should pass. Fellow councilors, I see no logic in rejecting a proposal without exploring the benefits it will bring to Vulcan, especially now in her state of need.”

 

“But this proposal is radical, and goes against the principle of our prime directive.”

 

“This is no time to argue about ethics, considering the state of emergency we are in. Councilor Storak, do you think it more ethical to stick staunchly to a rule meant to ensure the progress of other worlds at the risk of destroying our own?”

 

“Nevertheless, Councilor Spock, it is the humans you are planning to ask assistance from. We know nothing about them beyond a few renaissance missions. There is nothing to assure us that they will not turn on us after we make first contact.”

 

“There is logic in your statement, but I must refute it. The most probable course of action the Romulans will take after Vulcan will be for the subjugation of Earth. Humans not as wholly unintelligent as you believe, they will see the logic of the situation and join forces with us. We are pressed for choice, Councilor Storak; the Tellarites are too engrossed with their skirmishes with the Andorians to aid us. The Betazed are useless in the situation. We are under siege, and our rations can only last so long. The only logical way out is to arm the closest planet and to ask for support there.”

 

There is a silence following his words, and he feels his mother’s grip on his knee tighten.

 

“Councilors, if we may proceed into the voting procedure?”

 

There is a murmur of agreement around the table, and Spock knows that half the battle is already won. He looks to his mother, who is smiling a little out of the corner of her mouth. Across their familiar bond, he hears his mother laugh.

 

“All those for contact with Earth, raise your hands.”

 

Irrationally, Spock holds his breath as the hands slowly start to rise in the air. One, two, three, four – more and more hands go up, and Spock counts them all until they stop.

 

“All those against contact with Earth, raise your hands.”

 

He watches as the usual few rigid traditionalists raise their raise their hands, and then some.

 

“The vote is 15 – 6, with 15 for, and 6 against, by majority, this motion passes.”

 

Voices erupt at the table again, and Spock tries his hardest not to gloat at the obvious contempt on Councilor Storak’s face. His objections would ultimately go unanswered; Vulcan has lost too much to keep with their old ways.

 

After the proposal has gone through the proper channels, he would start work replying to the messages from the Earth messages from the SETI Institute he had secretly collected from the one James T. Kirk.

 

_Soon,_ he thinks.


	2. Part Two

**USS Enterprise – Narada Wormhole (Stardate 2260.42)**

“Captain on ze bridge!”

 

Kirk steps back onto the bridge again, and nods to his replacement as she vacates his seat. With the exception of Chekov and Spock, the alpha bridge crew is off duty, and instead the beta shift bridge crew is manning the consoles. Kirk studiously ignores the stare of his First Officer as she slides neatly into his chair, his eyes only on the viewscreen ahead.

 

“Report, Helmsman.”

 

“You’ve arrived just in time for arrival, Captain. We are dropping out of warp in approximately one minute.”

 

“Good. Status update, Mr. Spock?”

 

Kirk tries not to stiffen as he hears the footsteps of his First Officer slowly increase in volume until he’s right by the Captain’s chair. Kirk can feel goosebumps rising from underneath his shirtsleeves when Spock is leaning close to him, but he keeps his eyes resolutely away from Spock.

 

“Here are the reports from the Sciences detailing the anomaly in the wormhole, Captain.” He hands over a PADD, and Kirk can’t help but notice how Spock’s fingers are tucked into his hands more than usual to avoid contact with him.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Spock.” He flips through the report, careful to absorb the important points of the report. “You may return to your station now.”

 

There is a moment of hesitation as Spock stills for a second by his side, but then he is fast to walk away to his station as commanded. Kirk doesn’t allow himself to feel disappointed.

 

“Captain, we are dropping out of warp in about twenty seconds, sir.”

 

He rests the PADD onto his lap. “Thank you. Lieutenant Matson, please alert all personnel to head battle stations. Raise the alarms to yellow alert.”

 

“Aye sir.”

 

“We’re dropping out of warp, sir. In five, four, three, two, one –“

 

Kirk feels the familiar sensation of dropping out of warp; a subtle shift in his stomach as the ship comes to a standstill in the great expanse of space. The bridge crew shifts in their seats to look at the wormhole. There is a moment of silence on the bridge as they wait for something to happen.

 

“Captain, the sensors are picking up something in the wormhole.” Kirk turns around in his chair to look at Spock, who is bending over his sensor screen. “It is approximately circular in shape, and with machine specifications of a primitive space transportation system.”

 

“How fast is it approaching us at?”

 

“It is approaching us at a speed of 1500 kilometers per second, sir. It will arrive at the end of the wormhole in about thirty seconds.”

 

“Thank you, Commander. Ensign Chekov, ready the phaser banks and photon torpedoes for any incoming threat.”

 

“Aye, sir. Shields are fully functioning right now.”

 

“Commander Spock, I want another sensor scan, but this time, check for lifesigns.”

 

“Aye sir. There are two lifesigns on the ship, captain.”

 

“Can you get any more specifics?”

 

“No, Captain. There is serious interference on the sensors, and I cannot determine any more information. The ship will make its presence known in about 10.45 seconds.”

 

Everyone on the bridge looks back at the viewscreen, so silent that the only sounds audible are the beeping of the consoles, and the whirr of the ventilation machines.

 

Then, the wormhole lights up. Not with the lighting and fire that everyone had so expected from the Narada, but merely just an intense flash of light illuminating the intense darkness of the wormhole. Immediately after, a glint of metal shoots out from the wormhole, and Chekov has to bend over his console to furiously relock the phaser banks onto the ship.

 

“Chekov, can you get a lock?”

 

“Aye, sir! Just give me a leetle more time.”

 

“Drop that. Get a tractor beam on it first; it’s moving too fast.”

 

“On it. The ship iz slowing down sir; we’ve got it.”

 

“Good. Now lock the phaser banks on it. Mr. Spock, can you get more information on the lifesigns now?”

 

“Yes, Captain.”

 

The ship that had gotten all of then so worried seems to be merely a blimp on the viewscreen. In fact, it looks smaller than a junior officer’s cabin. Kirk feels a strange sort of disappointment that he feels pretty sure is mirrored by the other bridge crewmembers, with maybe the exception of Spock.

 

“Captain, the lifesigns on board the shuttle are… human. Interestingly, the sensors indicate that they have been asleep for 8.45 months.”

 

Kirk feels his brows wrinkling in confusion, and he picks up the PADD with the science reports to flip through them again. “What’s your professional opinion, Commander?”

 

“The scans have shown that this ship is incapable of travelling at even sub-light speeds, Captain. Given the antiquated machinery, I estimate that it originates from early pre-warp Earth. However, I am unaware of any such ship being launched in the history of Earth space travel.”

 

“You’re right; there are no records for this ship anywhere at all.” With a few taps of his fingers, he quickly retrieves the complete records of Earth’s pre-warp spacecrafts. “Do you think it’s possible that it came from another timeline?”

 

“That is not impossible, Captain. However, I believe it to be best to find out for oneself, sir.”

 

“I concur. Does this ship pose any danger to us at all?”

 

“None at all. It is does not come equipped with even a basic self-defense system; the ship merely functions to maintain the cryogenic systems on board.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Spock. Lieutenant Matson, I want you to assemble a security team and a medical team in Shuttle Bay One, and call up the beta shift captain to take the conn.”

 

“Yessir.”

 

“Lieutenant Chekov, bring the ship into the Bay.”

 

“Aye, Keptin.”

 

“Spock, you’re with me.”

 

Quickly, they both make their way down into the underbelly of the Enterprise, where a security team is already milling around down in the hangar by the shuttle. They hurriedly snap to attention when he walks by them over to Bones.

 

“At ease, boys. Bones, how’re you doing?”

 

“Fine,” his best friend grumbles, fiddling with his medical tricorder. “Just have a bad feeling, is all.”

 

“Good day, Doctor McCoy. If I may ask, what is disturbing you so?”

 

“Well, remember the last time we fiddled around with frozen people? That didn’t end so well, didn’t it?”

 

“You are referring to Khan.”

 

“What else?”

 

“In that case, I must point out that there is a high possibility this ship does not belong to this universe, and therefore unrelated to the Khan incident entirely.”

 

“Why, I was just expressing my concerns –“

 

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Kirk cuts in before this day could get any more confusing. “Now’s not the time. Scotty, how’s it going?”

 

Over by what seems to be the solitary entrance to the ship, his Chief Engineer waves back at him. “Heya sir, come look at this.”

 

Kirk walks over, only to see the familiar word _Enterprise_ emblazoned in bold black letters over the side of the door. Next to him, Scotty is grinning like a madman. “What a coincidence, huh?”

 

“Yeah. Think the captain will be as hot as me?”

 

“Nah, sir. Haven’t seen a more charming lad than you around here.”

 

Behind him, Spock opens his mouth to speak, but Kirk cuts him off before that could happen.

 

“Any luck with the door so far?”

 

“I’ve managed to disengage the door lock, but honestly, even a wee bairn could do it. It almost seems as if this ship was made to be opened by someone else.”

 

“I see. Thanks, Scotty; I’ll take over from here. Security, I want you guys to stand behind me and make sure that nothing goes past me. Set your phasers to stun.”

 

As the security officers move to stand in formation, Spock moves forward and makes a protest. “Captain, allow me to enter the ship first.”

 

Kirk sighs. “As you’ve said; they’re humans, and they’re probably confused and in no shape to fight.”

 

“There is a chance you could come to harm, and you must be safe from it.”

 

Kirk can feel the Vulcan’s dark gaze against the side of his face, but he refuses to give in and look back. “Your advice is duly noted. Just trust me, okay?”

 

He gives a thumbs-up to Scotty, who presses a button on a remote, and the door hisses open.

 

The interior of the ship is dim, and incomprehensibly cold. Kirk ducks his head and steps in, squinting his eyes to see around in the darkness. There is nothing remotely intriguing in this ship, Kirk knows by now it’s only a metal circular container containing two sleeping human bodies. He calls for Spock, who enters carefully with a flashlight in his hand.

 

“What do you think?”

 

“Fascinating.” Spock points his flashlight at the two metal blocks rising up from the cells. “These should be the cryogenic cells containing the two life forms.”

 

“Let’s get them out of there. Bones!”

 

“I’m coming, hold your horses,” his friend gripes from the door. “Scoot over.”

 

In the dark, Spock shuffles closer to him, and Kirk can feel the entirety of his First Officer’s arm pressing into his own, right up to the bare backs of their hands. Against his own will, his fingers twitch, and gently they brush against Spock’s own, and almost immediately Spock moves his arm behind his back.

 

He clears his throat. “Which one first?”

 

“Let’s take the right one, first. Spock, can you break this open?”

 

“I believe I can, Doctor.” Spock moves to kneel down on the dusty floor of the ship, and shines his torchlight onto the keypad on the block. He sweeps a careful hand over an engraving over the top, revealing a name. “Her name is Hanakawa Reika.”

 

“Open it up then.”

 

“I am getting to that part, Doctor,” Spock quietly hushes Bones as he connects a Scotty’s tricorder to the cryocell. “The programme should finish running about – now.”

 

The machine lets out a loud hiss, and the door slowly slides open. It reveals a body of a Japanese woman, covered by a thin sheet of clear plastic, deeply asleep still. Through it, however, Kirk can see the abnormally blue tinge to her skin. Hurriedly, Bones runs a medical tricorder scan on her and barks out for the nurses outside to prepare a hover-stretcher.

 

Gently, he reaches down to peel back the plastic sheet, and detaches the mask clamping onto her face. No reaction still.

 

“Shit, we need to get her warmed up. Her mask malfunctioned.” Bones bends down and quickly retrieves her from the cell and passes her cold body to the nurses waiting outside.

 

Kirk moves away from the open cell, and turns to the second one on his left. There is clearly no time to lose. Retrieving Spock’s fallen flashlight, he searches for the slight dent on the door where the nameplate is, and rubs his shirtsleeve against it to clean away the dust. When he reads the name on the cell, he freezes.

 

“Holy shit. Shit, Spock, come here quick.”

 

“Captain, what – “ Spock’s reads the name and his brows furrow. He snaps to action immediately, connecting the tricorder to the cell.

 

“Wait, do you think – “

 

“As we have previously established, it most likely possible this ship came from an alternate universe. So yes, I think so too, Captain.”

 

The tricorder beeps, and the door slides open. Without waiting for it to completely open, Spock reaches into the cell and rips the plastic off the awakening man.

 

“Oh my god,” Kirk breathes, “its me.”

 

Dazed, he watches as Spock lays a hand onto the side of his face and pats the other him awake carefully. Under Spock’s hand, his eyelids flutter, and slowly, he opens them by a fraction.

 

From the entrance of the door, he hears Bones swear.

 

His doctor friend barges in and shoves Spock to the side, effectively displacing his hand and squishing both of them against the wall. He scans over Kirk’s doppelganger, and plucks off the mask as soon as the scans gave him the green light.

 

“Can you talk?”

 

The man in the cryocell stirs, and seems to be unable to process the sentence, until he shakes his head slowly side to side.

 

“Is your name James T. Kirk? Can I call you James?”

 

A nod.

 

“Good, you’re safe now. I’ll move you now, is that okay?”

 

A nod. Then suddenly, James makes eye contact with Spock, and his eyes opens unnaturally wide. Weakly, desperately, he reaches out a hand to grab at him, and catches Spock just so by his end of his shirt. Spock blinks once, twice, while James just smiles in an odd mixture of awe and relief.

 

 _Spock,_ he mouths, _I’ve found you._

 

**Sickbay – USS Enterprise (Stardate 2260.45)**

 

Reika isn’t waking up.

 

James rolls onto his side to look at his fellow astronaut, who is still in a state of deep sleep. Not for the first time, he marvels at the technology present in this room; this is beyond anything he has ever dreamed of. When he woke up, a nurse was hovering an instrument over his cracked lips, and said it was a dermal regenerator. True to her word, the bleeding skin had healed the second it had touched his mouth.

 

He had been too dazed to ask more, and instead he had fallen right back into sleep.

 

Now, he’s left all alone in a single quiet room with Reika, and it’s driving James crazy. There is absolutely nothing to do in this room, and the fact that he hasn’t gotten any information to where he is not helping him in feeling any better. The nurses that come in to tend to both Reika and him don’t give him any information beyond giving him some odd looks and telling him that ‘everything’s going to be fine’.

 

If he does have the energy to feel paranoid, he would. But how, even blinking takes effort, and James can’t stay awake for more than ten minutes at a time. Still, he tries. He wants to see Spock again.

 

Not the one in his dreams; he can’t see that one anymore. Its feels foreign to sleep uninterrupted, and James’ isn’t sure whether he like it better or not. But now, there is another Spock, or at least an alien/man who looks exactly like the one he’s dreamt up, and James wants so badly to see him again, to know he’s real.

 

His not even sure if the person he saw was even real, or just another hallucination he experienced during his weakened state, but he just wants to see Spock again. The dreams are gone, and James misses him.

 

His eyelids feel heavy again, and he allows himself to be dragged under once again by the waves of sleep.

 

Right outside the wards, however, Kirk paces the floor of Bones’ office anxiously. Spock is sitting on one of the doctor’s chairs watching him, while Bones reads out the reports on their two newest visitors.

 

“Hanakawa Reika, aged 24, a woman of Japanese descent. The lack of oxygen during her hibernation caused some damage to her brain, and now we’re putting her into sleep to let the micro-surgeon do its job. She’ll probably be awake by the end of this week.”

 

“The other me -”

 

“Before you ask; I compared his DNA to yours, and yes, it’s a 99.34% match, congratulations. Anyway, James T. Kirk is well on the road to recovery. He’s still weak due to his prolonged state of rest, and he can’t take in solid foods yet, so we’re working him up from a drip.”

 

“Well, okay. Is he healthy, mentally?”

 

“Its too early to tell. Why?”

 

“Did you see what happened inside that ship? He grabbed Spock like he knew him and smiled.

 

“Of course, I do Captain. Vulcans have eidetic memories. I admit; I am rather curious as to how he knows me. It is impossible that he should know anything about Vulcans at all, considering the lack of warp capability on the _ITS Enterprise_. He is a rather fascinating individual.”

 

Kirk swallows down his petty jealousy at Spock’s last sentence. _What does he have that I don’t?_ He thinks.

 

“Yeah, okay. When’s the soonest we can get some information out of them?”

 

“Woah, woah,” Bones looks up from his PADD. “Hold your horses there. They’re in no condition to even be awake, let alone talking. What’s gotten your panties in a twist, anyway? You’re not usually this snappy.”

 

“I’m not snappy.” He is. Something doesn’t feel right with James around, and Kirk wants him gone as soon as possible.

 

“Sure, kid. Anyway, James has been asking around for Spock the past few days. I was thinking we should let him talk to your double.”

 

“What for? I thought you said we couldn’t get information from them yet!”

 

“Yeah, I did say that. But the difference here is that Spock is going to speak to him in order to make him feel comfortable, not going in to interrogate him.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because he’s going absolutely crazy in there, Jim! I mean, you can’t even stay on the biobed for half an hour; living completely alone and sedentary would be cruel.”

 

“The doctor is right, Captain. Furthermore, I do not mind spending time with James, so I fail to see how there can be any objections.

 

Tiredly, Kirk sits down onto a chair. “I’m not objecting. I’m just worried he might be a security threat.

 

“I have three times the strength of a normal human being - ”

 

“Okay, okay. You win; just let me be there with you when you go in first.”

 

And that’s how they found themselves standing outside the ward together later on in that day. James had just woken up from another nap, it seems, and it seems that he would be awake for at least an interval of ten minutes this time.

 

Spock raps gently on the door with his knuckles, but he doesn’t wait for any a confirmation before entering. Kirk stays close behind him. There are two biobeds in the room; the still-sleeping Reika occupies one, while his alternate form lies on quietly on the left. At their entrance, he looks up weakly, but Kirk hears the heart monitor attached to James rise in volume.

 

“Mr. James T. Kirk. Are your injuries healing at a satisfactory pace?”

 

Down on the bed, James cracks open a grin, his eyes oddly watery. Visibly, he struggles with opening his mouth and getting his vocal cords to work, but after an excruciating few seconds he replies with a soft, hoarse “yes”.

 

Spock moves forward to stand beside James head to make things easier for him, so he wouldn’t have to strain his head. Kirk keeps at his position at the foot of James bed.

 

“Can I address you by Mr. James? It would to prevent any confusion, considering that there is another you onboard this ship that has your name.”

 

James’s eyes had been so deeply focused on Spock’s form that he hadn’t thought to look at the other person that had came into the room. Almost comically his eyes snap to him and they widen comically when he sees himself staring back.

 

“What’s happening?”

 

Spock presses a reassuring hand onto his chest when Jame’s heart rate noticeably spikes, stopping the wave of panic before it evolves into a panic attack entirely.

 

“Please, do not worry. You are safe; no one is going to hurt you. The full story will have to wait until you are in a more stable condition, but know that this is the year 2260, and most likely this is not the universe you once lived in.”

 

Kirk manages to peel his gaze away from the harsh stance of his alternate self to look back at Spock, and he manages a rough smile at him, his grey eyes swimming with relief.

 

Then, a loud knocking rings out loud in the stale silence of the ward, the nurse behind the door gesturing at the chronometer rather pointedly.

 

“Very well, I will leave you now to recuperate, Mr. James.”

 

They leave the room, much to the sleepy distress of the patient. As he leaves, Kirk glances at himself lying on a biobed, and for a moment he feels a bit of sympathy at the red-rimmed eyes gazing back into his own.

 

Outside, the Doctor McCoy stands waiting for them. “How is he?”

 

“What an intriguing individual. Mr. James acts as if he is familiar with me, which is almost impossible, considering his circumstances.”

 

“Well, he sure got excited when he saw you, alright. His heart rate went completely off the charts, and I almost had to ask my nurses to cut your timing short.”

 

“I think that given the speed in which he’s healing, it iss permissible for me to visit him at least once daily.”

 

“Yeah. That might be useful in helping him get better, actually. Just come into my office before you go in to check on whether it’s a good time for you to visit.”

 

The next few weeks pass, and Kirk watches from a distance as his alternate self gets better bit by bit, from being able to lift himself up from the bed to walking unaided between short distances. Meanwhile, his other astronaut friend just had the micro-surgeon implant in her head removed, and should be waking up in another few days.

 

Kirk didn’t know it was this possible to feel so at a loss with himself. He misses Spock, which he knows is a rather stupid thought to have since they see each other’s faces on the bridge for a few hours a day, but he knows its not the physical distance that’s actually the matter. He misses the simple connection they once had. Their chess games had stopped entirely after the beginning of the mission, and James misses being able to sit with Spock for a few quiet hours, sharing a headspace together.

 

He tries not to be jealous of, well, himself, for having so much of Spock’s time that used to be his. Spock goes down to Sickbay almost all the time now, and he’s pretty sure the bridge crew is noticing how much he tenses up whenever his First Officer leaves the bridge.

 

Kirk is trying. He’s been offering so many olive branches that’s he’s literally tripping over for a chance to just sit down and have a proper meal with Spock again. He doesn’t want to seem whiny and desperate, but he _feels_ whiny and desperate and just a little bit pathetic. He just wants Spock to accept his goddamn invitations and _not_ go down to Sickbay to spend his time doing whatever it is he’s doing with James.

 

And so, after his shift he heads down to Sickbay to pay a visit to his other self. Remembering that he’s missed his physicals for the second week already, he studiously avoids Bones’ office and slips right into the ward.

 

On the right, the bed that Reika occupies is now empty and neatly made; she had woken up a while ago, and is probably undergoing a physical under Bones’ strict supervision. Meanwhile, Spock had set up a table by the side of the bed, and is now teaching a grinning James how to play tridimensional chess.

 

Kirk resists the urge to flip the small table over. “Hello Spock, hello me.”

 

Spock makes to rise. “Captain.”

 

“No, no, sit. And we’re off duty, call me Jim.” Kirk almost spits the last part out. He wants so badly to hear Spock call him that again without prompting him to. It’s an almost impossible task; saying Jim’s name seems almost like torture to Spock. His First would politely look away and continue with whatever they were doing to unsubtly change the subject.

 

From the biobed, James waves weakly at him. Fuck, even now Kirk still gets creeped out by how similar they look like. Apart from being a few inches shorter and having blue eyes, they could be twins. He understands now why Spock becomes so brusque when he talks about the old Ambassador Spock in front of him.

 

Kirk approaches the table and claps a hand onto Spock’s shoulders, trying to look as natural as possible. “Spock, have you eaten?”

 

“I have not, sir.”

 

“Good, I’m starving. Wanna go grab a bite together?”

 

Spock looks back onto the board. “I do not need nourishment at this moment.”

 

Kirk tries not to flinch at the obvious rejection. He keeps his face on his now clammy hand on Spock’s shoulder and refuses to acknowledge James’s gaze on his flushed face.

 

“Hey Spock,” James says. “We should stop the game - I’m tired. Maybe you should go and eat something.”

 

 _I don’t need your pity_ , Kirk thinks viciously, equal parts embarrassment and anger coursing through him.

 

“If you are tired, I shall leave you to rest.” Spock turns around to face him. “Jim, I believe I shall accompany you after all.”

 

As they make their way down to the mess hall, Kirk keeps his silence and as always, Spock walks one step behind him. It’s high time for a talk between the both of them. Kirk is horrible at talking feelings, much less to say Spock, but something has gone sour between them, and Kirk needs to know what before it drives him crazy.

 

They sit down with their food at a small table at the corner, far away from the chatter amongst the crew in the mess hall. Kirk watches as Spock chews a few spoonfuls of his fruit salad, ignoring his own plate of minced meat pie.

 

Kirk sets down his cutlery. “Did I do something wrong?”

 

Spock pauses halfway through taking a bite, his mouth slightly ajar. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“Why are you ignoring me?”

 

Kirk winces at how petulant he sounds, and not all at like the 28-year-old Starfleet Captain that he is.

 

Spock carefully sets his spoon down, making soft ‘clink’ sound when the metal hits the plastic bowl. “I am not.”

 

“Yes, you are. Ever since I died, you’ve treated me like some stranger you’ve just met. We don’t talk, or eat, or play chess together anymore. Tell me what I’m doing wrong so I can stop. Please.”

 

Spock is looking at somewhere over his left eyebrow, and it’s a clear sign that he’s uncomfortable with what they’re discussing.

 

“You are not doing anything wrong, Capt – Jim. If you have been feeling neglected because of my actions, I duly apologize. There are some personal matters on my mind that I have had to deal with lately.”

 

Shit, Kirk feels even worse now. He had been so awfully self-absorbed he didn’t think about what Spock could be possibly facing to become so withdrawn. He leans forward in his seat, forcing Spock to look into his eyes.

 

“Shit, are you okay? Is everything all right with your family?”

 

“My clan is well. I am adequate physically, Captain.”

 

“Emotionally, mentally?”

 

Spock visibly stiffens, his knuckles turning white around his spoon.

 

“Come on, Spock, I thought we were past this stage already. We both know you do feel. And we’re friends; friends tell each other their problems so we can help each other out.”

 

“I,” Spock starts, his voice faltering. “I cannot, Captain. Please forgive me.”

 

Kirk feels as if he’s been punched in the stomach at the denial of their friendship. He’d honestly thought that the both of them had already exceeded being just casual friends, but apparently it was a one-sided affair on his half. “I – Okay. It’s not a big deal; just take care of yourself, ok? I’ll be here if you need me.”

 

“Captain – “

 

“No, no, its fine, really. They’re called ‘personal matters’ for a reason, and I shouldn’t have pried.” His hands move of their own accord to grasp his fork numbly. “Eat up, Spock. I forgot I have a meeting with the Engineering heads later on, so I’ll have to dash. You take your time.”

 

He knows Spock is looking at him, but he resolutely keeps his head down and shoves mouthful after mouthful of pie into his mouth. He doesn’t think his heart can stand another rejection; he’s getting a pretty clear idea of how insignificant he is to Spock. Kirk only wishes that he could feel less for this man than he does, right now.

 

**USS Enterprise – Transporter Room (Stardate 2260.97)**

 

“He’s in love with you, you know.”

 

Spock and James are sitting around in the transporter room: Spock in a chair with a PADD in hand, and Kirk on the floor with various parts of the transporter lying all around him. At this abrupt conversation starter, the Vulcan raises one of his eyebrows.

 

“Pardon me?”

 

“Your Captain. He’s in love with you. And pass me that welder by your leg, won’t you?”

 

Spock elegantly kicks it over to James. “And that matters to me, because…?”

 

James looks up from the instruction manuals that Scotty had dumped on him when he had volunteered to work on the transporter sequence to send him home. “Well, because you feel for him too. Don’t you?”

 

Spock does not reply; he doesn’t need to. He has told this Jim Kirk more things he has told anyone so far, even beyond what his own Captain knows. He enjoys taking liberties with this calmer and more transient version of his Jim by telling him about Vulcan customs and occasionally his own take on certain matters.

 

James has been nothing but reciprocal in return. He returns the favour by telling him about his life on 21st century Earth, where he came from. He tells him about his Pike and his training and his dreams of another alternate him, which provided an intriguing, if not disturbing, look into a Vulcan from another timeline.

 

James is a fascinating individual. He has experienced a different set of people in his life and environments growing up, but still he possesses the integral strength characteristic of what Spock now assumes is the defining feature of all James Kirks. Yet, the strength this Jim possesses is more sedate and steadfast, in contrast to his own Captain’s burning and resolute one, and this makes Spock feel more at ease with James.

 

It’s not that Spock finds Kirk repulsive, oh no, it is the complete opposite. His Captain burns so bright and warm, Spock feels almost compelled to gravitate ever closer to him. This is why he doesn’t trust himself around Kirk anymore; the incident with Khan has proved that this one man is detrimental to his emotional control like no other being he has ever encountered.

 

And yet, he finds himself aching to fall within Kirk’s gravity, like a moth to a flame. He aches to accept just one of the many invitations his Captain has extolled to him, but he isn’t sure if he could control himself not to accept more. Spock has spent countless nights after meditation just thinking of him in the safety of his bed and wondering what this _wanting_ could possibly be.

 

This goes against all the teachings of emotional control he’s ever learnt, this yearning to lose oneself in another, and to his great shame, he is confused and absolutely terrified. He had thought once of leaving Starfleet to pursue the Kolinahr to rid himself of such burdening feelings, but leaving Kirk behind to face the universe alone had scared him so badly he had vanquished the thought all together. Spock has seen his Captain die once, and he’s not sure he himself can survive another instance.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

 

Spock immediately snaps back from his tangent of thoughts back into present reality. Kirk is looking at him from the floor, his face stained with grease from the machinery. He looks back at his PADD loaded with equations, and does not return James’ strange grey gaze.

 

“The Captain does not love me. You do not know, James.”

 

“Of course I do. I’m practically him. I understand things like that. I’ve got my own Spock too, and I do know what I feel for him, even though I’ve never met him.” James slides underneath the transporter pad again, and when he speaks, his voice is muffled and interspersed by the clanging of metal. “How are your equations coming along?”

 

James is excited with the prospect of returning back to his timeline, and back to his Spock, which he now knows to exist for real. Spock knows he does; he feels a tenuous link binding the both individuals together and it flashes weakly in his mind whenever James makes to have a brief moment of contact with him. He is irrationally envious, but he squashes that thought before it can fully register with him when he feels it.

 

James had brought a strange little plastic cube with him on this trip. He refused to let go of it when he was first loaded onto the Enterprise, and Spock now knows why. It was supposed to be a farewell gift from his foster father Pike, given on the belief that they would never meet again. James had opened the case on his behest, and inside were just three things: a photograph of Pike and James together, a packet of freeze-dried apple slices, and a recording.

 

Spock had allowed James his privacy to eat the apple slices in peace, which Pike had written on the back of the photograph that he had included it so as Kirk didn’t go hungry on the journey. They, however, listened to the tapes together, and Spock had been surprised when he heard Vulcan when he had been expecting human speech from it.

 

Kirk had revealed that this recording was the tape that Earth had received from an external source from space, and had been the thing to trigger his mission to space. Kirk was ecstatic when he found out that this message had been sent by a member of Spock’s race, but had been less so when he understood the messages for what they were: a distress call.

 

Spock had called for a meeting not long after that. The task to get James and Reika back to their timelines was now made more pressing. Kirk had been strangely supportive of the idea, and acted strangely whenever James had touched him on the shoulder in a show of friendship. Nevertheless, the important thing now is that they are working on a solution to get James back in time to provide aid to a besieged Vulcan, and the safest way would be to do it is by transporter.

 

“My equations are coming along adequately, James. Scotty’s help and my other counterpart have been very helpful in composing this, as I am sure you are well aware of.”

 

“Yeah. You should really do something about your Captain though.”

 

Spock feels a frission of annoyance and desperation in his head. He wishes James would stop giving him hope like that. “He is not, and I am not going to ‘do something about it’.”

 

“Really? Because the Captain just looks ready to tear me apart whenever you talk to me, and I would really appreciate getting home in one piece.”

 

Spock suppresses the rather pleasurable sensation of being wanted by Kirk. “You have no evidence on which you base your claim on.”

 

“Come on, Spock, don’t play dumb. You’ve seen it too.”

 

Spock has. But he refuses to allow himself to think of it “Regardless.”

 

“Hey,” James voice is suddenly unexpectedly serious, and he looks up from his PADD to see that he has wheeled himself out from under the transporter to look at him. “Listen; you have to sort this thing out with him. We’re friends, and I want to see you happy after I leave.

 

“I –“

 

“I _know_ you feel, Spock. I don’t buy into the whole ‘Vulcans don’t feel’ crap, considering how much you emote around me. I know for sure you aren’t happy, and I think its because of your Captain.”

 

“I am adequate, James.”

 

“But not happy. And you’re treating me like a replacement for your Kirk, and that isn’t right, is it?”

 

Spock cannot help flush at James’ accurate pinpointing of his feelings. He is unused to such a level of sensitivity from a Kirk. “I am sorry.”

 

“It’s okay. I don’t mind being your sounding board for all the things you want to say to him, as long as you do say it to Kirk in the end. You shouldn’t be afraid of reconciling your human emotions with your Vulcan sensibilities.”

 

Spock only wishes he knew how. He finds the both sides of his genetics irreconcilable, and he has been taught to obey the Vulcan way that he doesn’t know how else to live his life.

 

“Hey, perform that fancy mind trick you can do on me. I’ll show you something.”

 

He is immediately cautious. “James, you do not know of what you ask.”

 

“I already have another Spock in my mind anyway, what’s another one? Come on, you wanted to know about the bond thing both he and I have, right?”

 

Hesitantly, he raises a hand to James’ face, who had unknowingly made his way to Spock’s side. This act is one of extreme intimacy, and he feels both apprehensive and excited to experience the mind of a Kirk, especially one that has a bond with another version of him. Slowly, he raises a hand to James’ face, his sensitive fingers brushing over the sparking psi points and he pushes in.

 

There is no resistance, only welcome. James’ mind wraps around his gently, and it feels very much like lying in a spot of sun on a lazy day. In the distance, he hears James laughing, and he feels a gentle hand pushing him towards his memories of Spock.

 

James gently guides him to where the bond between them is. Spock marvels, his entire soul washed in awe at something so entirely precious and beautiful. Now he knows; it is the t’hy’la bond, the most revered of bond tying both souls together through space and time.

 

 _See,_ James says, reaching out a hand to gently stroke at the golden rope, _this is what you can have, if only you reach for it. It isn’t logical to deny yourself, Spock._

 

He feels overwhelmed at this revelation. Could this really be his? Spock has never known fulfillment in his life _,_ rejected by the both worlds he was born into. It is bereft in his head, the severing of million of bonds still plague him with pain and suffering when he isn’t careful to keep his shields up. He drifts closer to the blazing brilliance of the rope.

 

James lets him. He encourages it in fact, and Spock feels him slowly pushing his essence closer and closer to the bond, and he raises one mental hand to reach out to touch it, and –

 

With a crash, they are snapped out of their meld. Spock feels their psyches detangling as he removes his hand from James’ face, and when he regains his vision, he sees his Captain staring at them from the doorway, his face and neck flushed an angry red. A piece of the transporter lies overturned on the ground next to his boots; that must have made the loud crashing sound just now.

 

Kirk’s blue eyes are wide, and darting between both him and James. Spock then realizes how close the both of them have gotten during the meld, and makes to step away from him.

 

“Uh,” Kirk stutters, his grip around the doorframe tightening. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

 

Spock realizes immediately what this situation looks like. “Jim, I assure you –“

 

“No, its fine,” Kirk says as he slowly backs out of the doorway, his eyes downcast. “Just – Sorry.”

 

Kirk practically trips over himself to get away, and Spock is left standing in the room in a state of shock. He feels a nudging at his left shoulder, and he turns to face James, who is glaring at him insistently.

 

“What are you still doing here? Go and clear things up with him.”

 

Spock does.

 

_USS Enterprise – Captain’s Quarters (Stardate 2260.97)_

Kirk stumbles through the threshold of his room, his vision suspiciously blurry. He waits as the door hisses shut behind him to collapse against it. His heart feels like its about to beat its way out of his chest; his breaths are coming up short, and his hands are trembling like never before.

 

Fuck, what is _wrong_ with him? Kirk doesn’t understand why he’s so shaken over the sight of his First Officer and his alternate self entangled together. Wait – scratch that, he knows why. Because he’s in love with Spock, and Spock obviously prefers another version of him enough to engage in mental intimacies with him.

 

 _Get a fucking grip,_ he tells himself mentally; _you’re a Captain, not a goddamn teenager!_ Even so, he can’t help but feel bitter and absolutely crushed by Spock’s blatant preference for James over him. Maybe this is Spock’s ‘personal matter’; his illogical feelings for his alternate self. That explains so much now: Spock had been avoiding him because he looks like James’ who is leaving soon to go back to his universe.

 

Try as he may, Kirk doesn’t understand why Spock wouldn’t want him instead. Is he too impulsive, rash? Does Spock still hold him responsible for making him lose control on the bridge on the first Narada mission? Oh God, he’s already ruined his chances before he could even start.

 

He buries his head in his hands, and grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes. It shouldn’t hurt this much, Kirk thinks. He’s never been in love, but he knows what he feels for Spock comes close to it. He wants to be close with him and look at him and touch him all the time, and honestly the intensity of his want scares him. He was willing to die for him once, and he would do it again if needed.

 

What about letting Spock go? A stab of ice passes through his heart at the mere thought of doing so, and it hurts so much that he wants to just curl up in a ball and never come out again. But he knows; he can’t be selfish. Spock deserves to be happy, and Kirk wants Spock to be happy. And as much as he can’t bear the thought of living in a universe without his First Officer with him, if Spock wants to be with James, Kirk would let him go.

 

He does not expect to hear a chime requesting for entry, so when it does, James jerks out from his reverie and turns absolutely stone still when Spock’s voice sounds out from behind the door.

 

“Captain. Jim, will you let me in?”

 

He carefully stands away from the door, hoping that Spock will think he’s not in and leave.

 

“Jim,” Spock continues, undeterred. “I have checked with the computer locator systems; you are in your quarters. I wish to speak to you, if you will allow me to.” A pause. “Unless, you wish me to leave, then I will – “

 

Before he realizes, the ‘No’ is out of his mouth, and Kirk can only stand in abject horror at his stupid, stupid mouth. Through the gap between the door and the deck, he sees two booted feet adjusting themselves, and he sighs in defeat. “Whatever. Come in, Spock.”

 

The door slides open, revealing a very uncomfortable Spock, silhouetted by the light from the corridors. Hesitantly, he takes a step in, and the door slides shut behind him, leaving them both in Kirk’s comparatively dark quarters.

 

“Hey,” Jim starts, all false cheer and bravado. “What’s up?”

 

“Jim, you must know that I have no romantic attachments towards your alternate self.”

 

“Um. Sure. But you don’t have to hide, I understand –“

 

“No. I am not interested in James. I am, however, interested in you.”

 

Kirk takes a moment to process what he just heard, and he’s sure his eyes are ridiculously wide right now. “I’m sorry?”

 

“I am not interested in James. However, I am very keen on pursuing an intimate and romantic relationship with you. Will you allow me the privilege of courting you?”

 

Kirk feels warm and flushed all over, and he blatantly stares at Spock. His First is obviously getting more and more uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Are you – sure?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Because I don’t think you are. Wait, are you just replacing me for James, because I swear, if you want to leave, I’ll let you.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “I can at least do that much for you.”

 

He looks down at the ground, hands curling up into fists by his side. Kirk hears Spock’s footsteps getting closer and closer, until they’re standing right in each other’s spaces, and he can feel puffs of dry breaths against his ear. He doesn’t dare to lift his head. If he does, their faces will be much too close, and Kirk doesn’t know if he can control himself.

 

A gentle hand touches his shoulder, as if asking for permission to touch more. Kirk doesn’t move, and Spock then slowly slides his hand up to his neck, stopping briefly at his pulse point, and then coming up to his cheek. Neither of them dares to make so much as a sigh.

 

Kirk’s skin is on fire; everywhere Spock touched feels itchy and oversensitive. His First’s hands are colder than his, as per normal Vulcan temperature, and it feels like a brand on his overheated skin. He can’t help himself but press his cheek to the hand cupping his cheek, and when Spock tilts his face up, he doesn’t resist.

 

Their faces are mere inches apart. Kirk can hear every breath Spock takes, and he watches his long, dark eyelashes flutter as he blinks. His heart is beating at a hummingbird’s pace, and the air feels electrified.

 

“Jim,” Spock whispers. “I am, as you would say, serious about you.”

 

Shaking, Kirk laughs, and presses his lips gently to Spock’s own open ones. For an electrifying moment, all he feels is Spock’s cool lips against his, and the subtle strength of his hand on his cheek.

 

Kirk pulls away, and leans his forehead against Spock’s. A laugh bubbles up from deep within his chest. He’s so happy he could cry.

 

“Prove it to me then.”

 

If his voice sounds a little watery, it doesn’t matter, because Spock leans in again to seal the deal with another kiss.

 

**Vulcan – House of Surak (Human Year 2015, 10 Months Later)**

 

Spock runs down the endless corridors of his house, breath labored and heavy. His ears are ringing with the sound of phaser fire and his own heartbeat. He doesn’t have much time left. He makes a sharp left turn and keeps on running.

 

The bottoms of his robes are caked with red dust, and his face is streaked with dirt. Over his shoulder, the bag laden with family artifacts slides down, and Spock hefts its up again. A particularly loud bang rings above his head; another level is collapsing under the heavy Romulan fire. Everyone has already been evacuated, only one person is left in his estate.

 

Through their familial bond, Spock bangs on the shielded mind of his mother. Her shields are slowly sliding down to reveal her disjointed thoughts. Her stress and despair is quickly bleeding through to his mind, and he scrambles to decipher her thoughts to gain knowledge of where she is.

 

In his mind’s eye, he sees a picture of his father, and of a heavy desk covered with dust. _His father’s study_. Quickly, he takes the nearest turn and heads to the 3 rd level.

 

When he bursts into the study, his mother is kneeling around a mess of paperwork and various photographs. Her face is streaked with tears, and when she looks up into Spock’s eyes, he sees her face twisted in fear and despair.

 

“Mother,” he says, pulling on her forearm. “We have to leave now.”

 

She clutches a photograph of Sarek and Spock to her chest. “I can’t leave, Spock. I can’t leave this place. Sarek - ”

 

“You must. This is not the time for sentimental relapses, Mother.”

 

A heartrending howl rips out of his mother’s throat, and another explosion rings out from outside. Spock looks up at the dust falling from the ceiling, helpless against the fear and panic ebbing at his emotional controls.

 

“You can’t make me leave this place – this is all I’ve ever known – “

 

He snaps. “Mother,” he snarls. “We either leave now, or die here!”

 

Amanda heaves against the floor, her hair falling from her previously neat hairstyle. Her hands tighten against the photo frame. “I don’t think I can walk, Spock.”

 

Spock doesn’t reply. Instead, he scoops his mother off from the floor and runs.

 

There is an armored hovercar outside their house when Spock runs out from their house for the very last time. He stashes his mother in before getting inside himself. The Vulcan in the driver’s seat nods to him. Spock offers a shaking ta’al back.

 

From the windows, Spock can see the Romulan warbirds descending onto the burning Vulcan cityscape. Shi’Kahr is no more; the buildings that had made up its cityscape are reduced to debris amongst the fires still raging. In the distance, whole fleets of armored cars are speeding away from the wreck, evacuating as many Vulcan citizens as possible. But nevertheless, it will be inevitable that some will be left behind. His mind is filled with the anguished screams of those that have been. Quickly, he raises his shields.

 

His mother is curled into his side, her tears staining the sleeves of his shirt. This blatant display of emotion would have been scandalous if this was any other day, but now the driver doesn’t even deign them a look. His hands are curled up into fists against the control panels, looking resolutely away from the wreckage of Shi’Kahr.

 

They are all hurting. Now, Spock envies his mother’s humanity. Vulcans do not have tear ducts, he cannot cry even if he wishes to.

 

The hovercar brings them to the underground bunker of the Vulcan High Council. Spock gets out and instructs the driver to bring his mother to his own safety spot deep beneath the sands of Vulcan. Everyone in the bunker is up in arms, and even though the bunker is large enough to occupy 500 people, the amount of activity happening makes it even more claustrophobic.

 

The minute he steps in, a Vulcan attendant rushes to his side to usher him down the corridors into the very heart of the bunker, 2 kilometers into the ground. The elders are all already seated around a table, heatedly discussing. He smoothes down his robes and sits down at one at the empty seats.

“Councilor Spock, how is the wellbeing of your clan?”

 

Spock nods in reply to Stakh, one of the older Councilors. At the age of 168, he has seen many things, including the birth of the first human-Vulcan hybrid child. Spock owes his existence to him; if not for this vote, he might have never been born.

 

“I ensured their evacuation before heading here. And yours, Councilor Stakh?”

 

Stakh’s tired eyes turn absolutely brittle. “All three of them, yes.”

 

Before Spock can reply, a slamming from in front of the room snaps everyone to attention. Councilor Storak clears his throat, and speaks.

 

“Councilors, we simply cannot delay any further. The people need a solid action plan, before we lose any more to the Romulans!”

 

Someone shouts from next to Spock. “We cannot do anything, our resources are limited and we have been besieged for months now!”

 

There is an uproar following his words. It is true; the rations carefully stacked up over a course of 10 years have gone dangerously low. Spock knows if something is not done soon, they will all starve, and defeat will be inevitable.

 

Another voice pipes out from amidst the chaos. “What about our contact with the humans?”

 

The crowd falls silent, and Spock feels the weight of everyone’s stares on his as they turn to look at him. He suddenly feels hot, the collar of his robes too tight around his throat. “Councilors,” he starts. “Even though we have been conscientiously sending out replies to the messages received by the VSI, with great regret I say there has been no reply as of yet.”

 

Immediately, the noise breaks out again, and this time Spock is the main focus of it all.

 

“Councilor Spock,” Storak intonates imperiously from the opposite side of the room. “Were you not the one to convince the Council of the benefits of contacting Earth?”

 

“Yes, Councilor Storak.”

 

“So much manpower has been put into this project of yours; manpower that could have helped with other more vital projects. And yet you have no returns?”

 

“Councilor – “

 

“Responsibility must be taken, Councilor Spock.”

 

All eyes are on him; he cannot say otherwise. “Yes.”

 

“Find us a solution by the end of the month, or you lose your Council seat.”

 

“You ask too much,” Spock stands up abruptly, his chair skidding backwards. “This seat has belonged to the House of Surak for generations, you cannot take away what is rightfully – “

 

“ - This seat is rightfully given to the House of Surak by the Vulcan people. Councilor Spock, if there is no one to govern, your seat is for naught.” Storak leans back in his chair. “Councilors in this house, is it logical today to ask that the Councilor Spock take responsibility for his actions?”

 

A murmur of agreement passes through the house.

 

“Let us do a simple vote. Those who are in favour of Councilor Spock finding a solution, raise your hand.”

 

Unsurprisingly, most of the hands do. Spock tries not to show how close he is to bashing Storak’s head in with his bare fists. He is tasked with the impossible, and everyone in the room knows that. Spock can see the petty spite in their eyes; this is merely a civilized formality to strip the half-breed bastard and his house of their title.

 

Rigidly, he sits back down in his chair. “So it shall be.”

 

The councilors move on to another topic, as if they hadn’t just striped the noblest of houses of their esteemed seat on the Council. Spock’s blood burns. He should not have to suffer this indignity. He is young and of half human heritage, but he does not deserve to suffer at the hands of those meant to be his peers. His hands turn into fists and from his seat he –

 

A hand claps him on the shoulder, and Spock almost snarls at the councilor who had dared touch him so daringly. When his green-tinged vision registers the wizened visage of Councilor Stukh, his anger quickly loses steam.

 

“Councilor Stukh, I apologize for my loss of control.”

 

“It is of no consequence. I should offer my condolences; they have asked you to perform a miracle which as I am sure you cannot.”

 

Mutely, Spock nods. “I am aware.”

 

“I only wish you the best of luck, as illogical as that is.”

 

“My many thanks, Councilor Stukh.”

 

Spock does not contribute to discussions for the rest of the meeting. Instead, he sits silently and contemplates what is the wisest course of action from here. He supposes now his only choices are to contact either the Tellarites or Andorians to provide aid.

 

When he reaches his own bunker, the sky is dark. But still, he can smell the acrid stench of smoke in the freezing night air. He walks past chambers with his other clansmen deep down to the central room where he knows his mother is. It is deadly quiet, almost as if everyone is waiting for the next bomb to drop.

 

He keys in his combination code, and the doors to his and his mother’s quarters slide open. The lights are switched off. This bunker has been unused for several years; the air still smells dank, despite the ventilation system currently working. He shuffles to the bed pressed up against a corner of the room. His ears pick up a soft snoring from the lump of the bed. His mother is already asleep.

 

His mother is wearing one of his father’s old robes, a heavy grey affair that looks much too big on her. The tear tracks on her face are fresh. She probably fell asleep not a while ago. Spock leans in forward and carefully untucks the blankets from the ballet and pulls it over her trembling form.

 

He does not take up the other pallet in the room to rest. Spock is exhausted, he has never remembered being so tired in his life. His body needs to rest, but he knows he cannot. Instead, he shuffles over to the a little desk at a corner, where he will work at contacting the Andorian ambassadors for aid.

 

He is unproductive as expected. Spock nods away halfway through a message, and wakes up later than he usually does the next day. He blinks wearily into the crook of his arm as slowly his body adjusts to being awake. He sits up, and something slips off his shoulders as he does so. Spock picks it off from the ground, recognizing it as the robe his mother had worn to sleep last night. He looks to the pallet, but he finds it empty.

 

He finishes his message and sends it, before leaving the bunker to his ancestral house. Spock can sense his mother’s emotions through the bond; she must be there.

 

When Spock arrives, he understands why his mother felt what she did. The previously towering estate is bombed to pieces. He takes one step into the rubble, passing by a stone hand that used to part of a statue of Surak. Spock feels his heart clench at the sight.

 

There is nothing left. A few steps in, he find his mother kneeling down amidst shards of glass and rock.

 

“Good morning, Spock,” his mother greets him upon hearing the crunch of his footsteps.

 

“What are you doing here, mother?”

 

A dry laugh. Spock watches as his mother scoops up a handful of dust and sand from the ground. “I needed to see if this – our home – was really destroyed. I hoped that we would be spared. But everything is gone.”

 

Spock feels her pain. Millenias of history destroyed in just a few scant minutes. Beyond that, this is the home he’s grown up in. To see it razed to the ground hurts beyond almost anything he’s ever known. He thinks of his father as he sweeps away a glass shard at his foot. Maybe it was for the best he died earlier on, he wouldn’t have had to see this. Sarek’s death was clean cut too; a phaser shot execution style to the head. Painless. Spock envies him.

 

A crunching sound of footsteps comes from behind him, alerting him of another presence besides the two of them. His mother remains blissfully aware, but the natural sensitivity of his ears picks up on them. Spock’s hand slowly goes to the phaser in a holster in his robes.

 

“Mother,” he whispers. “There is an unidentified person currently with us right now.”

 

Another crunch. The person is getting closer. His mother goes absolutely stone still in front of him. “How far away are they from us?”

 

Another crunching sound. “I estimate them to be around 6.46 meters from us. However, they will reach us soon in about 2.45 seconds.”

 

His mother rises from her position in the ground and turns around to face him. Her hand, too, is in her robes where her phaser is. “Romulan?”

 

He listens again. “Unknown.”

 

“How many of them?”

 

Another crunch. “One.”

 

A figure appears from behind a fallen pillar, and both Spock and Amanda immediately raise their phasers.

 

“Identify yourself!”

 

The figure raises their hands, a sign that he is unarmed. “I’m unarmed! I’m not a Romulan.”

 

A brief sensation of familiarity washes by Spock when the figure spoke. “Reveal yourself.”

 

As to not startle them, the figure raises both hands to their head, pushing back at the hood he is wearing. Slowly by slowly, more and more of the figure is revealed. A set of grey eyes, curved ears and rounded blond eyebrows. Besides him, Amanda gasps. A human.

 

“I’m James T. Kirk, from Earth. We’re here in response to your distress calls.”

 

**United States of America – Riverside, Iowa. (10 th January 2016)**

 

As the sky lightens over the Iowan cornfields, two men stand together in a bedroom. One is looking out of the window at the waving stalks of corn, while the other finishes zipping up his flight jumpsuit. The bed is unmade, white sheet rumpled with sleep and previous night’s activities.

 

Spock feels a warmth behind him, and two strong arms come around his waist. A chin rests against his shoulder, breaking Spock out of his curious gazing.

 

“Are you ready to go, Spock?”

 

James’ hair tickles at his cheek. Spock turns around to face him, and James tucks his black-haired head under his chin. In his head, their link throbs with life.

 

Hesitantly, he reaches around to hug back at James. This is all very new to him. He is not accustomed to such outpouring of positive emotions, and he does not know how to reciprocate.

 

“I can feel you worrying, you know.”

 

Spock is worried. Earth is such a foreign place with foreign landscapes and foreign people, and ironically, he feels disorientated and alienated. He had alighted from a spacecraft way beyond what should be Earth’s current technological capabilities. The reception had been mixed; some were elated, some were out for his blood. His mother had arrived on Earth back with him, and he supposes his half – human heritage had tipped the scales in his favour.

 

Amanda had cried when she stepped foot back onto Earth.

 

James had immediately moved them back to his Iowan home here, after talks and negotiations with people he knows are important. They had a few weeks before they were both scheduled to head back out into space again, carrying rations for the Vulcan people.

 

In the privacy of their own bedroom, James had lovingly grasped Spock’s hands in his, and told him about their mind – link and how he had made his way to Spock.

 

He had met alternate versions of both himself and Spock, in a much more advanced timeline. They had worked together to get him and his colleague Reika back into this timeline, and had given them basic blueprints of warp drives, and beamed them back onto Earth. James laughs when he tells him how their alternate selves got together.

 

“T’hy’la,” James had whispered into his ears, kissing them.

 

Today, they are leaving to head back to Vulcan, with a whole armada of warp equipped human ships. Amanda is staying behind with her parents, who thought her dead for the last thirty years. Spock is making his way back home alone, this time.

 

But it matters not. He’s not returning alone; he has James beside him. Reika, their chief engineer, will be helming the newly remodeled ITS – Enterprise back into the stars.

 

“I’m ready, James.” Spock breathes. “Let’s go.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking through this fic! It was fun to write. You can find me on tumblr at alrightcat.tumblr.com, if you want!

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it, you can check out my tumblr at alrightcat.tumblr.com. Thank you for your time.


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